


the king is dead

by xuxisquish



Series: long live the king [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (rarely), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Assassin Donghyuck, Blood, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Pirates, Prince Mark Lee (NCT), Serious Injuries, be careful, maybe there will be some funky magical stuff in the future stay tuned, more to be tagged as story progresses, some graphic violence at times, swordfights and everything epic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuxisquish/pseuds/xuxisquish
Summary: in which prince mark thinks the assassin that sneaked his way into his heart is dead, and donghyuck has to watch from the sidelines as his soulmate falls in love with another, all while he is stuck at the king's beck and call, killing off anyone his royal majesty considers a threat. but when a long-forgotten mentor, a captain of the guard whose true allegations seem suspicious, a royal bastard with a liking for the stars, a pirate without a crew, and a boy with a sword and a dream come into play, things at the palace get a little bit more complex than the assassin had first expected them to be.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin, Lee Jeno/Park Jisung, im not tagging everything bc spoilers
Series: long live the king [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807501
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey ! this is a sequel to the 15k markhyuck fic that was supposed to be a one-shot (haha) called long live the king, so go check that out if you want to understand what is happening !
> 
> okay so, before we start, i need to thank my betas for their amazing help. sav, sia, thank u guys so much, i couldn't have done it without you. Mwah.
> 
> happy reading guys :D

Someone had died tonight.

  


Word on the street was that Lord Vernon, a rich young man and known enemy of the king, had been assassinated. There were rumours of a cloaked figure without a face carrying a vicious knife, blade tinted blood red with overuse. No one saw them, no one heard them. It was like a phantom had come in, slit the lord’s throat from ear to ear, sliced off his finger, and slipped out without a sound. Lord Vernon’s body was already rotting by the time the guards found it. 

  


Vernon hadn’t been a good man. He’d hidden behind his inherited money, ignored the law a good amount of times, and dabbled in business he shouldn’t have. The king's hatred towards him simply sealed the demise of the corrupted man . It was no wonder, they said, that his time had finally come. They just weren’t expecting the  _ form  _ in which it came.

  


_ A shadow,  _ hushed voices whispered to one another, peering around fearfully. A spirit of the night that had come to make everyone pay for their sins.

  


“Do you remember that other lord that sold opioids to about half the city?” some drunken redhead slurred, pushing back his shoulder-length hair from his face and exposing his pink nose. “He died in the same way, I think.”

  


“No way,” another man answered, putting down his pint of beer and hunching over the table, as if by getting closer he could clear the fog in his head that was worsened by the loud clamour and smothering heat of the tavern. This was important. “Lord Mingyu?”

  


The redhead nodded. “Yeah, him! He and the Vernon guy were associates, too, I heard.” He took a swig of beer, the golden liquid sloshing down his chin and staining his already-soiled tunic. He didn’t seem to mind. 

  


“So do you think it was the same person?”

  


“A person?” The man with the fiery hair looked around for a second, drunken eyes suddenly bright with fear. “No. A demon is what I think.”

  


The guy shook his head, black hair falling over his eyes. He let out a laugh, as if what he just heard was ridiculous, but it sounded forced and his smile had faded. “It can’t be. Demons don’t exist.”

  


The redhead nodded. the man looked feverish, eyes glassy, something resembling a hint of folly, burning behind his irises. “I didn’t think they did either. Until… that. No one saw them.  _ No one _ . No human can possibly walk all the way to a very influential lord’s house, murder him, and stroll out like nothing happened, all without being so much as glimpsed by a passerby.”

  


His interlocutor nodded, and his face turned pensive. “You might be right.”

  


The other man sighed in response, then raised his mug, even though it was almost empty. His hand was a little shaky, and it seemed to be due to something more than the alcohol in his system. “To the demon that took care of those entitled money-loving scumbags.” He laughed, but it wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Either way, the raven-haired guy in front of him brought up his mug too. “Hopefully they don’t come after us next.” 

  


And with that, both of them downed the rest of their beer, bringing their mugs down, not without casting cautious glances around them.

  


In a corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, a figure clothed in black smirked under the hood of their cloak. 

  


͟͟͞͞➳

  


There were many things Donghyuck Lee wasn’t good at.

  


Card games. Reading. Keeping promises. Making good things last.

  


But there was one thing he was  _ great  _ at, and luckily enough, it was his job.

  


Because Donghyuck Lee was good at killing people. It was a curse more than it was a gift, and with every life he took, his hands were painted with more blood. The guilt he carried only grew heavier, pressing down on his shoulders like a macabre weight he couldn’t dislodge. It was hard, sometimes, bearing the overwhelming regret he felt over the people he’d killed, the lives he’d snuffed out. It was difficult, it really was. Killing, however, was not. 

  


The act itself was simple. The slice of a knife, the twist of a hand, the sound of a heartbeat slowing down, the blood pooling at his feet. It was so, so easy, and he didn’t know what that said about him. 

  


Maybe that he was a terrible, twisted person, a man so sick he was past the point of saving. Maybe that guilt, that heart-crushing guilt that made his throat lock up and his chest ache, was karma for all the lying and deceiving he’d done. Maybe it was simply what he deserved.

  


And now, as he walked away from the packed tavern, down the cobblestone street lined with flickering lanterns, black hood thrown over his head, he could feel his legs wobbling slightly. He cursed himself, not allowing himself to stop. Assassins weren’t supposed to be weak. There were no emotions in that world of blood and steel and darkness.  _ Letting something bring you down is weakness _ , he remembered his mentor —  from the time before he became the king’s personal hellhound —  saying. The guilt, the sorrow, the splitting feeling in his gut he felt every time he looked at someone that couldn’t see him. He should be able to banish those thoughts, those feelings, to nothingness.

  


However, despite the storm that raged inside him, the flurry of emotion that made him almost nauseated, when he stepped into the king’s private audience room that night, his face was blank.

  


“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply.

  


“Rise,” the king commanded, and so he did. “What do you have for me?”

  


He willed a wicked smile to bloom on his face. It came easier than the last time. The thrilled glint in his eyes wasn’t entirely forced, either. “See for yourself.”

  


He chucked to the floor a black pouch. There was a revulsing squelching sound when it hit the stone. The guards surged forward as if they thought Donghyuck was trying to commit treason, before realizing the visibly damp sack wasn’t a threat and backing away. One of them stayed close, however, to pick up the bag, carefully fishing for whatever was inside. Donghyuck’s smile widened when the poor guard realised what it was, face contorting in a poor attempt in concealing his nausea. He looked almost  _ green _ .

  


With his lips pursed like he was trying hard not to throw up, the soldier slowly took a severed finger out from the bag. On it, crusted with dried blood, was a seal ring that used to shine golden, from the looks of it. 

  


“Bring me the ring,” the king ordered, and the soldier gulped before prying the golden piece of jewelry off the finger, a tremor in his hands. Soon, it was in the monarch’s meaty palm, his small eyes looking from the ring then back to Donghyuck.

  


The assassin grinned again, teeth glinting white from beneath his hood. “A little token from the dead. I hope you do not mind, your Majesty.”

  


His face pensive, the king nodded slowly. “I appreciate your work. I hope no one saw you.”

  


“They never do.”

  


“Then keep it that way. For your own good.” The royal waved dismissively. “You are dismissed.”

  


Donghyuck bowed again before backing away slowly to the door. Once he was out, he had to pause briefly, bracing his hand on the wall to catch a few breaths. He pinched his lips together, willing himself to calm down, to not hurl up his guts right there right then. 

  


He furrowed his brows in concentration, ignoring how his insides seemed to be twisting together in knots, and put one foot in front of the other. One, two. One, two. He couldn’t let himself think about the king, his cruel stare, his cold, poised stance. Talking to him made Donghyuck sick to his very core, every single time. 

  


His gait was a bit wobbly, but it didn’t matter since nobody could see him in the darkened corridors the servants used, so he pushed himself to keep going, hands shaking and jaw clenched. He tried to keep it in. He tried to be the reckless, cold, sick-in-the-head murder machine the king and his guards thought him to be. He was almost there, he’d thought. Almost indifferent, almost unbothered. With each kill, he pushed it down deeper, that fear that burned with the power of a thousand fires that if left unchecked, would scorch and kill everything in its path. Down, down, down, Donghyuck shoved it, until he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost. But no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how close he came to eradicate it completely, it flared up again, scorching, nearly uncontrollable, when the king spoke to him. 

  


It embarrassed him, the knot in his gut whenever the monarch was in front of him, the nightmares he had about a faceless silhouette wearing a crown, towering over him, crushing him — Donghyuck cried out, so weak it sounded like no more than a whisper, and fell to his knees, head hanging between his shoulders, hands braced hard on the stone floor. He panted, lungs on fire. In, out, in, out. Down, he ordered. Down. 

  


“I am not scared. I am not weak,” he whispered to himself, but the king’s face flashed across the back of his eyelids, and suddenly his body was racked with spasms and he was heaving all over the stone floor. His eyes burnt with the sting of tears, and he stayed there for a good five minutes, retching until all that came out was bile. 

  


His breathing heavy, he closed his eyes for a second. Then he got up, ignoring the spots that danced across his vision, wiped his mouth, and kept walking. He was not weak. He was fearless and strong and terrifying. 

  


Perhaps one day, he would be able to stop feeling guilty over the lives he reaped. Perhaps one day, he would look the king straight in the eye and he would not cower.

  


And when that day finally arrived… He felt sorry for whoever would try to stand in his way.

  


͟͟͞͞➳

  


Donghyuck used the abandoned servant’s passages to sneak his way through the castle. They were perfect for spying because they ran inside the walls, along the ceiling in all the main rooms of the palace. The library, the main halls, the chapel, the throne room, the barracks... He could crouch next to a rectangular opening and watch everything happening in the Grand Hall from up high, completely invisible to the naked eye. 

  


To most of the palace, he didn’t even exist. The higher-placed nobles knew of the King’s Champion, but no one knew  _ him _ . It was comforting, in a way, to be nothing in that world of silk and gold. He witnessed too many things from his spying spots — secret exchanges, alliances, threats, conversations he should never have heard. They thought they were so smart, the people of the court. If only they knew. If only they knew a nobody held all their secrets.

  


Donghyuck chuckled to himself as he walked through the dark corridor, running his finger along the stone wall, occasionally glancing through the openings to watch the Grand Hall below.

  


Then his eye caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks.

  


Suddenly all the walls he put up, all those self-admonitions about being strong — they melted like snow before the sun. 

  


Now, his heart was aching and his lips were wobbling as he stared down at Prince Mark Lee.

  


Four months had passed since that fateful day when everything had gone to hell and they’d said their goodbyes, both sobbing, separated by iron bars. It had been four months, and yet, seeing Mark never got easier. He’d thought that after a while, it’d get easier, the heartbreak. But still, every single time he caught a glimpse of the prince — his golden hair, his beautiful, though now rare, smile — Donghyuck felt like he was shattering all over again. It still hurt so much to be away from him like this, to see Mark walk around without knowing that Donghyuck was alive. Donghyuck turned, gaze refocusing on the passageway ahead of him. No more thoughts of the prince, he chastised himself. It was a lost feat, anyway. There was nothing he could do.

  


The assassin sped up his pace, shoe soles silent against the cobblestone. Tonight was a night for drinking.

  


͟͟͞͞➳

  


Jaemin Na loved two things \-- t he sea and rum. 

  


So obviously Donghyuck knew when he came to Jaemin, eyes hollow and jaw clenched, asking for directions to the closest tavern, the other man would be quick to comply. 

  


They’d met about a month ago, when Donghyuck had been sprawled on the city docks at midnight, staring at the stars and trying not to think too much about how they reminded him of eyes that belonged to a certain someone. He’d heard someone walking close by —  probably drunk, judging by the way their steps were unsteady and the slurred sea shanty they were humming under their breath. Since he was hidden by a few barrels and the cover of darkness, and most people who wandered on the docks just passed him by without noticing his presence, Donghyuck paid the stranger no heed. 

  


That was, until the slightly off-tune humming began getting closer and closer, and before Donghyuck knew it, there was a  _ foot  _ clumsily kicking into his side, pushing him off the docks and into the darkened water of the bay.

  


The cold made Donghyuck jerk, all the grogginess vanishing from his body, and he sputtered as he reached for the edge of the docks.

  


“Shit!” a voice exclaimed, and there was a sharp intake of breath. “What the fuck, are you okay? Hello? I didn’t see you man, ma’am, my good person, I’m sorry… Are you  _ okay _ ?”

  


“I am obviously  _ not  _ okay, you fucking asshole, what the hell?” Donghyuck coughed, his nose burning with the water he’d accidentally inhaled. His fingers tightened on the wooden plank he was holding and he sighed. Of _ course  _ he would get into a ridiculous situation like this, getting kicked off the docks and into the bay by a drunken wanderer. Amazing.

  


A warm hand fumbled a bit, then grabbed at his wrist, pulling him upwards. He pushed with his other hand, and soon he was out, panting, shivering, and soaked to the bone. He shot a glare to the idiot who’d kicked him into the water, though he was unable to see much of them in the darkness.

  


“Uh. Sorry again.” A nervous laugh, like his interlocutor didn’t know what to say. “Would you like a drink? As an apology.”

  


Donghyuck rolled his eyes, but then realized he had nothing better to do and he was, actually, longing for the burn of alcohol down his throat. “You owe me more than one, that’s for sure,” he mumbled.

  


The other chuckled. “You have a point. I’m Jaemin.”

  


Jaemin extended a hand and the assassin grabbed it, squeezing lazily. “Donghyuck,” he said, and they hit it off from there.

  


Donghyuck wouldn’t say they were  _ friends _ . There were too many secrets kept from each other, too many words left unsaid, hanging heavy in the air whenever their conversation ran short. They didn’t  _ ask  _ each other about it, no. What Jaemin knew of Donghyuck was that he couldn’t shut his mouth and knew where to hide a body, and that was about it. It was the same for the other boy, to whom Jaemin had only told he knew how to navigate a boat. Oh, and that Jaemin had lost something important to him. They both had. They hadn’t told each other  _ what  _ they’d lost, exactly, but they were aware that the other had lived something similar to them, and they managed to find a small solace of understanding in each other. But even with those secrets, those things they kept from each other, his relationship with Jaemin was probably the closest thing he’d ever had to a friendship. Well… excluding Mark.

  


“What’s up?” Jaemin asked him now, gulping down his drink like water. “Heartbroken, again?”

  


“Yep.” Donghyuck shrugged, bringing his mug of beer to his lips. 

  


“Aw.” Jaemin gave him a sideways look. His permanently disheveled, faded pink hair always gave him somewhat of a mischievous aura. “Do you need help fixing that?”

  


The assassin stared down the bottom of his pint, watching his reflection in the little beer there was left. “Yeah. Later.”

  


And there was that too, he supposed. That one night where they’d been more wasted than usual and the festive music was loud, the lights were dim, and they were both too needy for their own good. That one night when Jaemin’s hands had found their place on Donghyuck’s waist and the assassin hadn’t pulled away. Instead, he’d given the pink-haired boy a crooked grin, lashes lowered, his heart thumping with the thrill, and Jaemin had closed the space between them immediately. The kisses —  and everything else —  they had shared that night had been messy, stopped from time to time by drunken fits of laughter. Not lovey-dovey giggles, but actual laughter, because the situation they were in was just that hilarious. Plus, they were well aware of why the both of them had allowed it to happen.

  


As Donghyuck pressed his lips harder against Jaemin’s, as he licked into his mouth, pulled at his hair, his blood thrumming in his veins, Mark was pushed far, far away, into the deepest corner of his mind. It was hard, the first few times. He was always comparing everything, making a link to the boy with the stars in his eyes —  Jaemin didn’t kiss as softly. Jaemin didn’t make his heart jump out of his chest. Jaemin didn’t instinctively reach for his hand whenever they parted. 

  


But after a few nights shared with the pink-haired boy, it slowly became easier. His thoughts stopped drifting and he realized kissing Jaemin felt  _ good _ . Because damn, Jaemin  _ was  _ a good kisser, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most out of that knowledge. They were both aware there were no feelings whatsoever in their relationship. It was obvious, and even after Donghyuck made the other boy whisper his name in his ear for an hour, Jaemin was able to crack a stupid joke a few seconds after they parted. It was refreshing in the oddest way. Ironic, considering how heated he had felt during those times, when there was nothing between them, just skin on skin. It made his oh-so-painful thoughts about Mark fade for a bit, and he was grateful for that.

  


“So how was your day, aside from that?” Jaemin asked, interrupting Donghyuck’s train of thought.

  


“Fine.”

  


The pink-haired boy waved for a tavern employee to bring him another drink. “That’s great.”

  


With a hum, Donghyuck shrugged. “Sure.”

  


Jaemin didn’t ask questions, and for that Donghyuck was thankful. He didn’t feel like explaining anything, and Jaemin didn’t force him to. 

  


“Let’s get out of here,” Jaemin said, and the assassin nodded.

  


They left a few coins on the table to pay for the alcohol before bursting out of the packed tavern, laughing and stumbling over one another. Donghyuck followed Jaemin, not needing to ask where they were headed. They walked for a bit on the cobblestone streets, legs wobbly, the lantern-lit world surrounding them nothing but a blur. It was just a few minutes before Donghyuck smelled the sharp, invigorating salty air of the bay. They made their way to the docks, almost empty at this hour, and Donghyuck followed suit as the other boy sat down on the furthest dock, his feet dangling above the black water and staring into the horizon, at the point where land became sea.

  


“Did you know the Queen of the Tropics is coming with her sons soon?” Jaemin asked, breaking the silence. “To make an official alliance or some political shit.”

  


Donghyuck nodded. “Yeah, there have been tensions with the Tropical Kingdom for a while, so I guess they’re trying to put an end to it. Which is good, I guess, if it means they’ll finally put a commercial alliance on track. I love their fruits.” A painful memory flashed across his mind. Sweet smiles and muted laughter. Hands on his, sticky with watermelon juice. Donghyuck shut his eyes, willing away the unwanted memory.

  


“Oh, you’re right. I haven’t eaten mango in a  _ while _ .” Jaemin chuckled, looking up at the sky painted with stars. The assassin focused on keeping his eyes low, watching the mirror of black water that stretched into the distance.

  


Silence fell, and they listened to the rushing of water, the crashing of waves. 

  


“I love the sea,” Jaemin declared quietly. Donghyuck knew, but he didn’t know why. “I’m pretty sure I was born on the water.”

  


Donghyuck raised a brow and him, and the other boy’s eye roll was visible even in the darkness. 

  


“No, not born inside the sea or something, you idiot. My mother was on a boat when she gave birth to me.”

  


“Oh.” There was more he wanted to say, the assassin suspected.

  


“I spent most of my life on there, actually.”

  


‘What were you, a sailor?” Donghyuck chuckled.

  


The pink-haired boy’s lips quirked a little at the statement. “Something like that.”

  


“Then if you love the sea so much, why don’t you go back?”

  


“I can’t.”

  


“Why?” Donghyuck asked, even if he was pretty sure of the answer.

  


“Because I lost something. You know how it is.” He waved his hand dismissively. Donghyuck watched him carefully.

  


“Do you miss it?”

  


Jaemin looked up, gazing into the horizon, a wistful expression adorning his face. “Every day.”

  


“You’ll go back to it one day,” the assassin said softly, as if in reassurance, though he wasn’t sure why.

  


“You promise?” There was a grimace on the other boy’s face, because he knew the answer to his question, but there was still a glint in his eye, something hopeful.

  


“You know I can’t.”

  


Jaemin’s face fell, but he nodded nevertheless, a helpless smile tugging at his lips again. “I do.”

  


There was a beat of silence, and Donghyuck took a moment to breathe in the sea air, the light breeze carrying salt onto his skin, into his hair, into his lungs. Like this, he almost felt as if he was part of the sea, one with the eternal expanse of blue glinting under the moonlight. Like this, he could almost understand why Jaemin loved it so much.

  


He let out an exhale and tilted his head, watching Jaemin, who shook his head, pink hair swishing. “Okay, enough with that sentimental shit. Let’s go back to my room. My inn isn’t far from here.”

  


“I’ve been there at least twenty times, Jaemin,” Donghyuck deadpanned. “I think I know where it is.”

  


“Sorry. Force of habit.” Jaemin grinned, and the assassin hit him, hard, on the shoulder. “Ow! Was that necessary?”

  


“You’re a moron.”

  


“Yeah, but…” Jaemin trailed off. “No, there is no ‘but’ after that — you’re right, I am a moron.”

  


“Glad we agree on one thing, at least.” Donghyuck pushed himself up, the wooden planks under him creaking. The other boy followed suit, brushing dirt and shards of wood off the back of his thighs. 

  


The assassin started walking away first, but he didn’t miss the moment Jaemin took to watch the sea for one more second, his gaze filled with what seemed like longing, as if he was saying goodbye. It did not take long before the boy caught up to him, and Donghyuck received a friendly slap on the back, which in his current drunken state, sent him staggering forward. Jaemin’s laughter had a heaviness to it, but the brown-haired boy didn’t comment on it. 

  


It took them about fifteen minutes to walk the few blocks between the docks and the inn Jaemin was staying at, and they received a suspicious glance from the owner when they stumbled in. They ignored him, chuckling at their clumsiness as they made their way up the stairs. Once they were inside Jaemin’s room, Donghyuck barely had time to take in the now-familiar sight of the off-white, stained walls, worn-out bed sheets, and burgundy moth-bitten lampshade before the pink-haired boy’s mouth was on his.

  


Jaemin pressed him up against the wall, his hand holding Donghyuck’s jaw in a way that forced his mouth open, deepening the kiss. The assassin licked into his mouth, his blood thrumming. Kissing Jaemin felt like playing with fire. It was hot and thrilling and filled his veins with adrenaline, tingling with the faint fear of getting burned if he got too daring. 

  


Suddenly, Jaemin’s hands were squeezing the back of his thighs, and Donghyuck got the message, hooking his legs around the other boy’s waist. The contrast between the coldness of the wall at his back and the intense heat radiating from Jaemin pressed against him was stark, and Donghyuck sighed into the kiss when he felt teeth tugging lightly at his bottom lip. This was just what he needed, after Mark.

  


_ Mark _ . He furrowed his brows, his hands tugging at Jaemin’s hair. He was kissing Jaemin.  _ Mark _ . 

  


A sudden feeling of guilt overcame him, his chest caving in, air forced out of his lungs in small pants. Stars danced in his vision, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

  


Jaemin must have sensed him tensing up, because he pulled away, eyes wide in concern. “You alright there, mate?” 

  


He was not.

  


But, nevertheless, Donghyuck nodded, forcing the stupid thoughts of starry eyes and ink-stained hands out of his head, and pressed his lips to Jaemin’s once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! it’s been a while :) here’s some mark pov, hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3

When Mark’s father summoned him to his private quarters, the prince had nearly sent away the servant who relayed his father’s message. 

But after a few minutes, when the boy had skipped away with a gold coin for his services, Mark shook off his nerves the best he could, glaring at himself in the mirror. His hands trembled against his side, and even he could tell his eyes were blown wide in anxiety. He raised his fist, pressing gently against the mirror, and he let his forehead lean on the cool glass, eyes screwing shut in determination as he mumbled, “You have to go. Do not be a coward.”

He gave himself another moment, taking a few deep breaths, before starting the dreaded walk to the king’s quarters.

The second he’d announced his presence to the guards at the door, the urge to run away bubbled up in his chest. He pinched the fabric of his trousers, feeling sick to his stomach. But once invited inside, Mark carefully schooled his features into something passive, his expression serene. He would not give his father the satisfaction of seeing him nervous.

Mark moved to take a seat on a burgundy velvet armchair, sinking into the cushioned seat. His father was leaning back on a couch with golden seams, and the prince inhaled deeply through his nose, willing his heart to calm, his hands to stop shaking. 

He was not afraid, no. On the contrary, he was furious. The sight alone of the king made his blood boil, his ears ring. The man sitting in front of him made his skin crawl with hatred, and never in his life did he think one could feel such burning resentment for a single person. The king had taken Donghyuck from him. It made him want to scream, made him want to hit something, made him want to hurt someone, hurt  _ himself _ . It rendered him terrified, just how bottomless the pit of hate and loathing inside him seemed.

But this was the king seated in front of him, and he was merely a prince. He could not let any of it show, and so he stayed quiet, focused on keeping his head cool, level.

The king cleared his throat.

“Son.”

Mark didn’t say anything. He wasn’t allowed to.

“I am sure you already know of this, but a queen from a neighbouring kingdom shall soon arrive to negotiate an alliance.”

His father leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped. He was looking at Mark in a strange demeanor, one the prince wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what it meant.

“The court has come up with several ideas to negotiate with the queen, like a commercial contract and economic adjustments to make trading between our kingdoms more convenient. But there is something more we need, something to seal the alliance.” 

Uneasiness swirled in the prince’s stomach like a pit of snakes as his father went on, but he nodded along as if he understood what the king meant with those words.

Finally, his father inhaled softly and looked his son in the eyes.

“Son, the queen has a son your age.”

Mark pressed his lips together. “I am glad to hear that. I hope we can become acquaintances.”

There was a long sigh. “Not acquaintances, son. More than that. We… the queen and I are planning on arranging a marriage between you two.”

Mark stopped breathing.

No. He could _ not _ have heard that right. His ears had to be playing tricks on him, or he was hallucinating. But yet, the word marriage echoed again and again in his head, and he realized his hands, his face, his whole body felt frozen into place.

“I beg your pardon?” he managed to choke out.

His eyes were wide and he clenched the fabric of his pants hard to keep himself grounded.

The king simply stared at him. “A marriage, to seal the alliance. The prince of the Tropical kingdom will be a nice boy, I’m sure.”

Mark struggled to put his feelings into words, the roar of blood rushing to his head deafening, but all he managed to do was stare at his father, gaping.  _ Why couldn’t you have chosen Taeyong to be the one?  _ a selfish part of him wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer. His elder brother was the Crown Prince. He had a freedom that Mark had never had with his partners, freedom to fall in love freely, and the freedom to reject whatever suitors their father tried to throw in his direction. Mark had always known, after all, that he would probably be married off by his father in the name of political union one day. That was what being a prince who wasn’t next in line for the throne meant. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

Having relayed what he had wanted to say, the king pushed himself off the couch with a gruff grunt, brushing off imaginary dust from his coat as he stood. “I have business to attend to now,” he declared. “I simply wanted to inform you of the decision we’d made before the queen arrived. I trust that you understand the grandiosity of this arrangement, and of the good you shall bring to our kingdom.. You are doing a great service to your people by accepting this.”

_ I didn’t agree to it, _ Mark wanted to say.  _ I didn’t have a  _ choice. But he kept silent, as he had already knew of his role in the royal family since a very young age. So he repressed the whining in his head, and stood up before bowing.

“Thank you, father.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. The room was spinning. He gritted his teeth and focused on his breathing.

The king smiled, satisfied, as if he genuinely thought he was making his son a favour by marrying him off like this. Mark’s stomach lurched at the sight. “I will see you at dinner tonight.”

Mark nodded, and waited a few seconds after his father was escorted out of the room before slipping out of the door, keeping his pace steady, his face indifferent. This was nothing, he tried to convince himself. He was simply carrying out his duty as the second prince, fulfilling his responsibilities. 

He managed to make it to his room without breaking his careful mask of calmness, but the second he closed the door behind him, he braced his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as he waited for the feeling of tears running down his face. It didn’t come. He knew it wouldn’t. He hadn’t cried since that final, terrible day when Donghyuck died.

He sighed, a phantom hand probing inside of his chest, looking for the fire, the hatred, the  _ rage  _ he was expecting to feel. Surprisingly, there was nothing. All he found was the cold void inside of him, gaping, as if mocking him. He didn’t have the strength in him to even feel sorry for himself then. 

He pushed himself up and half-stumbled to his bed, legs wobbling with every step he took. Flopping onto his mattress fully clothed, he closed his eyes. Then, curling around nothing but the numbness in his chest, he fell asleep, dreaming of Donghyuck smiling as he drove a knife straight through Mark’s heart.

͟͟͞͞➳

When he woke, the moon was high in the sky and he supposed it was around three in the morning. Mark stood up and swayed on his feet, not bothering to smooth out his rumpled tunic, still donned in his formal royal robes. He walked out of his room, the door of his room closing with a silent click behind him, trailing absently along the empty corridors of the palace. He made his way to the top of the eastern tower, not bothering to knock before he pushed the door to the astronomy quarters open.

The circular room had walls that were more windows than marble, the floor littered with scrolls, old books, discarded items of clothing and an array of other knick-knacks thrown hapazardly around. There were no torches, no candles, the room illuminated by none other than the pale glow of the stars and moon. 

His eyes went to the telescope on the other side of the room, pointed toward the night sky at an angle through an open glass panel, and the hunched form sitting in front of it, who alternated between looking through the lens and somehow jotting down notes in the near-darkness. Mark took a seat in one of the few armchairs that weren’t occupied by piles and piles of ink-stained papers, making himself comfortable. The astronomer would talk to him when he was done. He knew better than to break his brother’s focus while he was taking his observations.

Ten minutes trickled by before the other boy finally stood, straightening his back and stretching his arms over his head as he walked to Mark.

“Look who we have here! If it isn’t my favourite prince, visiting me in the middle of the night.”

Mark smiled a bit, because despite the jab about the time, the both of them were well aware he’d be awake at this hour. “Hi, Jeno.”

Jeno lit up a candle, and Mark took in his brother’s face, the dishevelled dark hair, the sweet grin, the bags under his eyes that seemed permanently etched into his skin, a consequence of staying up one too many nights to look at the stars. Jeno was his brother by choice, his half-brother by blood, but a bastard son by heritage. They’d been thick as thieves since they were toddlers, playing pranks on the maids, running through the endless corridors of the palace and sparring with wooden swords together as children, until one day Mark was told he could not spend time with Jeno anymore. He hadn’t understood the word they’d used to describe his brother at the time, but once he’d grown a bit, he’d figured it out. The  _ bastard son _ , the people of the court called him. The fruit of the king’s infidelity, with no claim to the crown, no claim to a royal title. It angered Mark, how Jeno became a disgrace simply by being born. Jeno said he was okay with it, but the prince didn’t understand.  _ It’s better if I stay away from the court anyway, _ Jeno said when Mark got worked up over the way he was treated, no better than a servant.  _ It’s a terrible place to be, and I’m glad I have an excuse to avoid it _ . Jeno had always been a sweet boy, too nice for his own good, too kind for the revolting way he was spoken of by members of the court. And it was that same pure kindness that shone in his tired eyes as he took in the distress on Mark’s face.

“Mark, are you okay?” he asked, pulling a wooden chair to sit closer to his brother. “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting… You should’ve told me. What’s wrong?”

The prince looked away. “Jeno, my father just arranged my marriage.”

Jeno visibly did a double-take, his eyes widening in shock. “ _ What? _ ”

With a sigh, Mark shook his head. “I knew it was coming one day, but… now it just seems like it’s all happening so fast. I’m not ready, Jeno.”

“I know,” Jeno whispered, and grabbed Mark’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“It’s just so frustrating that I have no say whatsoever in this matter. It’s my life, but it’s all being decided in advance for me and my own helplessness makes me want to rip my hair out.” 

Jeno just looked at him in that knowing gentle gaze of his, waiting patiently for Mark to get everything off his chest. Jeno always knew. It was comforting.

“And…” Mark exhaled harshly, his chest tightening. “There’s… Donghyuck.”

His half-brother knew about the assassin, about the nights spent talking, about the goodbyes. Mark had told him everything, when he’d come back from the mansion his father had sent him to for months, his heart all bruised and battered inside by Donghyuck’s death, and Jeno had been so quick to ask if he was okay, that he could tell him about anything if he felt ready. They hadn’t spoken in months since he’d been sent away, but Jeno was still ready to listen to him, to support him. Mark had missed him so much, his middle-of-the-night talks with Jeno being the only thing keeping him from falling apart in grief. 

Mark went on, his voice a bit shaky. “It feels like treason, even if we were never really together, and… you know… ” He sniffled. “He’s gone now.”

Jeno nodded. “But it is not your choice to get married.”

“I feel miserable.”

Jeno nodded, his eyes full of understanding. It made Mark wonder what he’d done to deserve his brother.

“Okay. So what are you going to do?”

The prince hesitated. “I’m not sure. I don’t have much of a choice anyway. I’ll just… marry the boy and hope we get along.”

“Wait, who is the man you are to marry?”

Mark bit the inside of his cheek, going over what the king had told him earlier. “I… I don’t think my father mentioned it.”  _ My father _ , not  _ our father _ , because Jeno did not consider the king his father. “He said I was to wed the son of the Tropical Kingdom’s queen. I didn’t get a name. Or any other information, for the matter.”

Jeno’s eyes lit up at that. “A prince from the tropics? Oh, there are two of them, and they’re both quite kind!”

“Really? You met them?” Mark was still opposed to the idea of the marriage, but if Jeno liked whoever he was going to wed… Maybe it would be a tad easier then.

His half-brother nodded. “Yeah. The eldest is named Renjun, and the younger one is Chenle. They are both really fun to hang out with. And quite cute, too.”

Mark hummed at that. Okay, then. Perhaps it would not be that bad. “How did you meet them?”

“Their delegation came to the palace for a few days when you were… away.” Jeno’s voice became a bit quieter at the end of his sentence. That was still a sensitive subject. “I think that’s when the talk of alliances started with your father.”

“Oh. Alright.” And suddenly Mark really did not feel like speaking of his upcoming marriage anymore. He switched the subject. “So, are  _ you  _ getting married any time soon?” He managed a weak quirk of his lips, raising a brow at Jeno teasingly.

He expected a laughing outburst, or a snort. However, Jeno coughed harshly, like he’d choked on his own saliva, and let out an unconvincing chuckle. Even in the flickering light of the candle, Mark could see the blush on his brother’s cheeks. He frowned. Well, that was new.

“Me?” A laugh. “Of course not! Why would you even ask that?”

“Hm. No reason.” Mark took note of Jeno’s suspicious behaviour, but didn’t press any further. If his brother had anything going on with someone, he’d tell him when he was ready. “What were you studying before I interrupted you? Sorry about that, by the way.” He brought his hand up and scratched at his nape.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was almost done for tonight anyways. I was watching this comet that came into orbit recently, which I think is the same as one that we saw precisely 249 years and 4 months ago,  _ Astrea _ , according to these notes…” He picked up a yellowed parchment with scribbles and drawings of a comet on it. “But the palace astronomers think this comet is one we have never seen before; they want to name it.  _ I  _ think they are wrong. Because the angle of its revolution is of precisely 43,6 degrees to the axis of…”

Mark stopped comprehending what his brother was talking about the second he started spewing numbers, but he nodded along as Jeno went on a tangent, because the pure interest, the passion that lit up his tired eyes was worth a few confusing measurements. He loved when Jeno got like this, when he was so into something that he couldn’t stop smiling as he talked, when he stumbled over his words because he was trying to get everything out at the same time, the urge to share his newfound knowledge too strong. Mark didn’t always understand, but he would listen to his brother talk for hours on end about the positioning of stars and planets and asteroids if it made him happy. 

So they talked and talked and talked, about the sky and books and calligraphy and birds and coral reefs and stags and absolutely  _ everything _ . They talked until dawn came, and they both watched the sunrise from Jeno’s glass-surrounded tower. Talking with Jeno was so easy, and Mark honestly hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him all the time he’d been away. They only stopped talking when Mark’s eyelids fluttered closed against his own will, and Jeno started dozing off on his chair, nearly dropping his cup of tea in the process. 

Mark squinted through tired eyes. “I missed this,” he admitted. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jeno said, and the prince smiled. “I’m always here for you, Mark. I hope you know that.”

Mark let his eyes drift to the horizon, watching the morning sky painted in hues of pink and orange and purple, if only because he felt his vision start blurring. He didn’t want to start crying now, even if it would be especially easy to break down at the moment, considering how exhausted he was. He took a deep breath, still gazing out through the glass wall. “I'm here for you, too. Always. I love you, Jeno.”

When he didn’t receive an answer, he pivoted to face his brother again, but was met with a sleeping Jeno, hunched forwards, breathing softly. Mark groaned, but got up and gently shook him awake. He got a whine in answer, but pulled Jeno to his feet. “You’ll thank me later, when you won’t be too sore to move tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you to bed, sleepyhead.”

Mark guided Jeno up the staircase curving around the tower, and led him to his bed, tucking him in like he would a child. “Good night. I mean… good morning.” Mark chuckled at himself, and Jeno rolled away from him in his covers.

“I’m not a baby,” Jeno mumbled, and the prince smiled.

“Sure, whatever you say, my brother. Sleep well.”

And with those words, he gave his brother a last pat on the head, then slipped out of Jeno’s tower, silent as a shadow. 

͟͟͞͞➳

A week later, the church tower bells rang and trumpets blared as the royal delegation from the Tropical Kingdom strode through the main courtyard, green and gold flags waving in the weak morning breeze, the diplomats decked out in similar tones. It was impressive, Mark thought as he stood on the dais with a textbook smile plastered on his face, next to his father and his older brother, Taeyong, the Crown Prince.

The carriage stopped a few feet from the stone stairs, and a guard rushed to open the door, then held up his arm to escort the royalty. Mark watched, as a slender hand slipped elegantly into the waiting arm, a foot donned in a green slipper stepping out of the carriage soon after, and there the Queen of the Tropics stood on the dais, proud and strong.

She was stunning. There was truly no other word to describe her, those sharp cheekbones, that tanned skin, that strong jaw, those piercing brown eyes placed under delicate eyebrows. Everything about her screamed royalty, from the delicate golden tiara sitting atop her curling brown hair to the hem of her dress, intricately sewn with metallic threads that sparkled under the sun. Simply from a glance alone, Mark could feel the power radiating from her. 

He nervously glanced to his side where his father stood, thought it quickly melted into amusement. The king looked as if he was desperately trying to keep a straight face, but there was a glint of panic in his eyes. Mark could only imagine how dwarfed his father must’ve been feeling, face to face with this powerful woman with the aura of a ruler. 

“Her Majesty,” the royal secretary announced with a deep bow, “Gaeun Huang, Queen of the Tropical Kingdom.”

Two people stepped out of the carriage behind her, and Mark, still busy watching the queen, caught a glimpse of a mop of raven hair, and one of lighter locks in the corner of his eye. 

“Their Highnesses,” the royal secretary continued. “Renjun Huang, Crown Prince, and Chenle Huang, Prince of the Tropical Kingdom.”

Mark blinked, and was brought back to reality rather abruptly. Chenle. Renjun. Princes. Marriage. 

He glanced at them both, and decided he definitely had to agree with Jeno. The princes clearly shared the same genes as their mother. The tallest one, who the royal secretary had just introduced as Chenle, sported black-as-night hair that glowed blue under the sun. Mark’s eyes trailed over the rest of his features, taking in his plump lips, strong jaw, button nose and intense eyes that seemed like they could pierce a hole right through stone, if he glared hard enough. The young prince would’ve been intimidating, if it weren’t for the sweet smile blooming on his face.

The Crown Prince, Renjun, had a straighter nose, softer facial features, golden hair and gentle eyes. He looked stoic, however, his face blank and void of any emotion. He was pretty in the same way snow is, beautiful but cold, stunning until you touch it, because then it freezes you through and through. Mark felt like he would turn to ice if he gazed too long into his eyes. As if sensing his gaze, the Crown Prince met his glance and Mark averted his eyes, gulping. Oh, he was intimidated alright.

The king cleared his throat, pulling Mark out of his thoughts, and gave the queen a respectful tilt of the head, to which she responded with a nod of her own. “Your Highness,” Mark’s father started, his voice booming. “Welcome to the North. We hope you enjoy your time here, and we hope what you see will help seal the accord we have planned for our two kingdoms.”

The monarch smiled a bit, the freckles on her nose stretching. “I do hope we come to an agreement, too.”

With a wave of his hand, the king invited her and her company inside the palace, before heading back to his own quarters, leaving Mark and Taeyong to deal with the foreigners.  _ Deal with  _ was a big word, since they only had to oversee the assignment of rooms to every member of the delegation and make sure everything went smoothly.

Suddenly, Mark felt a tap on his shoulder and he pivoted swiftly, surprised. He was greeted by a bright smile full of straight, white teeth. “Are you Prince Mark Lee?” Chenle asked, and Mark nodded, unsure of why he was being spoken to.

“I’m Chenle, though I’m pretty sure you knew that already. Uh…” he hesitated, but his smile didn’t tarnish when he said the words that nearly sent the other prince into an existential crisis. “You seem nice, so I sort of wanted to get to know you a bit better before we get married… Is that okay?”

Mark nodded uncertainly, suddenly overwhelmed. “Y-yeah, sure! Yeah, that would be nice.”

So Mark’s suspicions were confirmed - Chenle was his soon-to-be husband. Even if Mark had been informed of the news a few days ago, and had taken some time to accept that he was going to wed someone much sooner than he’d thought, his resolution to comply wavered a little when he directly faced Chenle. It felt so much realer now, so much more daunting. And even if Chenle did seem amicable, Mark perceived the act of seeing him and talking to him as if his nightmare had grown flesh and bones. He felt like the same wave that had crashed over him when he’d learned the news, the flood he’d barely managed to swim over, had risen and cascaded back down over him. He was drowning.

Chenle was talking in front of him, but he couldn’t hear anything. His ears were buzzing and his head was pounding and he couldn’t breathe… 

“And I think that… Oh, my, are you okay?” Chenle stopped mid-sentence, head cocking to the side and brows furrowing in worry.

Mark gave him a strained smile and nodded furiously, which he regretted because the movement made the room start to spin. Hot. He was so hot. He could feel sweat beginning to pearl on his brow. “I’m fine,” he said, and he hoped it didn’t sound too winded. He needed air. His throat was closing up. He needed to  _ breathe _ …

“Are you sure?” Chenle’s voice sounded muffled, as if he was speaking underwater. Mark’s vision blurred and his legs wobbled as he tried to inhale, but with no avail. His breaths came in shallow wheezes and his throat felt like sandpaper. His father’s voice swirled in his head, mixing with Chenle’s, mocking him.  _ Marriage, marriage, marriage. You’re getting married.  _ Then it was Donghyuck, looking at him with nothing but disappointment in his eyes.  _ You’re a coward _ , Donghyuck declared, and started turning away, his face turning to ash.  _ No!  _ Mark tried to scream. He wanted to yell at him, tell him to come back, but he couldn’t breathe, and there was sand in his mouth, his lungs… 

And it all went away, his vision suddenly filled with nothing but the blond-haired prince, shouting his name. “Prince Mark! Wake up!”

Mark frowned, and blinked a couple times. He felt like he was on fire from the inside, but at least he could breathe now. There was stone against his back and he felt the cold of the floor seeping into him, steadying him, like he’d slid down against the wall without noticing. 

“Are you okay? You passed out right in front of my brother and we took you farther down the corridor so there would be less people around,” the crown prince,  _ Renjun _ , Mark dimly recalled his name, explained. At that, Chenle peeked from behind Renjun, and gave Mark a nervous smile and a thumbs-up. On the Crown Prince’s face, there was no trace of the cold and indifference Mark had seen in the courtyard, only genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” he replied, bracing his head on the wall behind him. “It was probably just the heat outside. Maybe I stayed too long in the sun, or something.”

There was a strange glint in Renjun’s eyes, like he didn’t believe him, but Mark thought he must have imagined it, because in a second it was gone. “Okay, well we are glad you’re well. And, please, for your sake, be careful.”

Mark gave him a sheepish smile. “Right. I’ll try.” How absolutely embarrassing that the first thing the two princes of the tropics saw of him was a stupid panic attack. He swallowed and looked away, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I’m so sorry for… the mess. And thank you, by the way. For… taking care of me.” It sounded strange said like that as they barely knew each other, but Mark was still a bit too light-headed to pay attention to his words.

“Oh no, don’t be sorry. It happens. And no problem,” Renjun said, squeezing his shoulder, the corners of his mouth lifting. Mark felt his humiliation subsiding a little in the presence of this tiny smile. He wanted to see what Renjun looked like when he was  _ beaming _ … Mark paused at his own thought. Because he liked seeing other people happy. Yes. 

“Okay, now, let’s get back to the others before your mother thinks you two have been kidnapped,” Mark grumbled, pushing himself off the wall, earning a laugh from Renjun and a helpful arm from Chenle. 

So as they walked back to the main hall side by side, making small talk, introducing themselves, cracking jokes, Mark thought that, marriage aside, this could be the start to a blossoming friendship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/jmzne)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/xuxisquish)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’m back i guess :] 
> 
> WARNING : there are some graphic depictions of violence in this chapter. be safe guys.

Donghyuck didn’t like the two princes one bit.

They were too pretty, too poised, too nice. The both of them looked  _ perfect _ , and it absolutely infuriated the assassin. And they became close to Mark  _ way  _ too quickly. Donghyuck did not like that.

When he’d heard from the rumours going around in the court that Mark was getting married, he’d refused to believe it. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not ever. Mark was his and his only, it didn’t matter that the prince thought he was dead. 

Then he’d had to face the reality, because Mark’s stupid wedding was all everyone talked about in this stupid castle, he figured. Word travelled quickly. Donghyuck had put all his rage in training for a week, going out for runs at midnight, when he felt his chest twist with anger, and only coming back two hours later, sweat dripping down his body, his limbs aching. It didn’t help. Running didn’t help, doing crunches while hanging from one of the ceiling beams didn’t help, sparring with the soldiers at the barracks didn’t help.

After two weeks, he finally managed to accept it, process it. Mark was getting married, and there was nothing he could do about it. So, to cope with the absolute despair and feeling of helplessness the situation put him in, he did what he did best. He spied on them. 

He spied on all three of them from the galleries, watching their interactions, analyzing their gestures, listening to what he could grasp from their conversations. 

From all the observing he did, he gathered two things. First, the raven-haired prince, the one Mark was actually engaged to, wasn’t a threat. They were friendly with each other, but there was nothing but a friendship there, Donghyuck could feel it. At least Mark’s husband wouldn’t manage to steal the boy from him.

The second one, however, the one with the blond hair… Donghyuck hated him. He hated his sweet face, his pretty eyes, his slender hands. And most of all, he hated his gorgeous smile, that lit up the room whenever it bloomed on his face, that was rare but seemed to appear more often when Mark was around. The way Mark suddenly couldn’t stop staring at his lips when he smiled.  _ Renjun _ . He’d heard his name from eavesdropping. A phony name for a phony boy. Donghyuck wanted to bash his teeth in, see if Mark would like his smile then.

It was that same overwhelming jealousy that took over him, draped his heart in a veil of black smoke, as he watched the trio of princes walking around the gardens. Renjun said something, and Mark laughed. It went right to Donghyuck’s chest, like a bunch of needles pricking through his heart. He clenched his fists, hoping if he stared hard enough at the light-haired prince from the tropics he would drop dead.

They’d become so close, so friendly, in two weeks. It was like they’d known each other all their life, almost. Donghyuck had overheard a lady from the court, an absolute idiot, call them  _ long-lost soulmates _ , talking about the quick way they bonded. He’d walked out of the palace, and ran all the way to the outskirts of the capital. He’d ran until his knees buckled every step he made, and he’d had to stumble all the way to Jaemin’s place. He’d started sobbing.  _ What about me?  _ he’d yelled, and even though Jaemin didn’t know what he was talking about, he’d nodded and squeezed his shoulder. 

_ I’m your soulmate _ , Donghyuck wanted to scream at the prince,  _ his  _ prince.  _ Wake up, Mark. I’m right here. I love you.  _

But Donghyuck couldn’t scream, so kept his mouth shut, and stayed silent as his soulmate fell in love with another.

  
  


͟͟͞͞➳

The king summoned him three weeks after the princes’ arrival to send him on another mission. Donghyuck couldn’t be more glad to get out of the palace, to have something else to look at than moron Renjun and his stupidly charming smile. 

It was the same as usual, the assassination of a woman the king deemed threatening. She was an influential businesswoman that built her fortune on selling tons and tons of opium to the king’s court, then buried the record, left to a portuary village halfway across the kingdom and told everyone she’d earned her money with hard and honest work. A snake, like most people who had ever been involved with the court was. 

She lived far away, though, so that mission would be a hassle to realize, with transport, inns, food and all that kind of stuff. Donghyuck started packing the day he received the order from the king. The sooner he was out of the castle, the better. He’d figure out the specifics when he’d arrive. He couldn’t do much from the capital anyways. He had some basic information, of course, but he needed to study the house, the guards, the grounds in person to be more effective. 

He left around midnight the same day, with a backpack full of spare clothes and a bunch of money for the way, a black cloak, dark boots, a mask, and enough knives strapped on his body to feel cold metal on his skin with every move he made. 

He made it to Jaemin’s place in a few minutes, using the roofs to travel through the city to avoid being seen as much as possible. Once he hopped on top of the inn, he hooked his knees on the gutter and let himself fall down, hanging upside down as he picked the lock on Jaemin’s window. A few more seconds and he was pulling the glass panel open and rolling inside. 

“Good evening,” he started, but he was cut short by the press of a cold blade on his throat.

He glared at the open window in front of him, giving the body behind him a vigorous hit with his elbow. “Come on, Jaemin. Don’t be a bitch.” The pink-haired boy released him with a sigh, and Donghyuck sprawled himself on the small, squeaky bed. “Is this  _ really  _ how you greet me? I am offended. I was just giving you a visit.”

“Yeah, well, maybe avoid  _ visiting  _ me by breaking in through my window. I thought you were someone here to murder me.”

Donghyuck snorted. “Oh, I could.”

With a grimace that looked more like a flash of teeth than a smile, Jaemin brought up his knife and watched his reflection on the blade. “I’d like to see you try.” He turned around. “And to what honour, exactly, do I owe your impromptu swinging by?”

“I’ll be out of town for the next month.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “Is that why you are bundled up in steel like a damn living armory?” 

The assassin hummed. “Maybe.”

“I know you’re an assassin, Donghyuck.”

“Oh?” the older boy’s gaze turned suspicious.

“It wasn’t hard to guess. You often  _ reek  _ of blood and death when you come see me, and I have to pinch myself to stop from passing out when we kiss.”

Donghyuck snorted and threw him the sole pillow, narrowly missing his face. “I don’t smell  _ that  _ bad.”

The other boy wrinkled his nose. “You do. And I am not sure who you work for, but my bets are on his majesty himself.”

At that, Donghyuck’s stare hardened, and he unconsciously reached for the dagger strapped to his forearm. That was not good. “And how the fuck do you know that?”

“Oh, loosen up,” Jaemin groaned, looking positively exasperated. “It was a wild guess, which I happen to be amazing at. Also your boots have the royal sigil on their soles. They’re only made at the palace, for the guards. Which means you work for someone at the palace. And I know you would just not accept to work for any less than the king himself, so…” Jaemin gave him a crooked smile. “But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, assassin boy.”

Donghyuck examined his nails. “Okay. But you tell anyone, and I’ll have your guts spilling on the floor.”

The pink-haired boy yawned. “I’d rather keep my internal organs where they belong, thank you.”

A small smile tugging at the end of his mouth, Donghyuck pushed himself off the bed and stalked back toward the window, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He met Jaemin’s eyes, which had a strange sincerity shining inside them.

“Be safe,” he told Donghyuck, with a squeeze on his forearm, before letting go. The assassin nodded before slipping out in the moonless night.

͟͟͞͞➳

This opium-dealer-turned-businesswoman had really picked a shit city to live in.

It was humid and cold and windy all the time, and even if there were nice beaches, it was impossible to use them because of the terrible weather. After a few days, Donghyuck felt like the wet chill outside had seeped inside his skin and settled in his bones. He couldn’t escape it. He was cold all the time, and even the relative dryness of his room at one of the few inns in town he shivered, regretting the roaring fireplaces, hot meals and warm baths of the palace. 

He’d gathered barely any information on the layout of his target’s house. She was well-protected, that bastard. Donghyuck walked around the residence, changing his cloak, his gait, his posture, to seem like a different person every time. Slowly but surely, he took notes, marking down the windows, the exit, the guard rounds, the servant passages. He followed the woman herself when she went out, trailing her from the roofs, watching attentively to see if he could garner some helpful information, but most of the times she just went shopping and he had to stare at her doing absolutely  _ nothing  _ for hours, his teeth chattering, perched on the top of a building nearby.

This job was going to be the death of him, he thought. No, not the job. The humid cold that froze him through and through, all day, every day. He was getting a little tired of failing at spying, he was getting a little exasperated. A little impatient.

And he was stupid for disregarding that fact. He knew impatience made people rush. It made people take shortcuts, it made people lazy. It made people make mistakes. 

So, really, he should not have been surprised when he did fuck the whole thing up.

It happened on the thirteenth night, when he decided  _ to hell with it, I’m going in _ . He should have known better. He didn’t know the place well enough on the inside, and he had no idea where the guards of the second and third floor were. He thought, foolishly, that he would be fine. That he was trained enough to make it out if it ever went badly. That he was strong enough to take any guard that opium dealer had in her service. 

He’d been wrong.

As the moon hid behind a thick cloud, he’d slid through a window on the third floor, right into the bedroom of his target. He’d looked around, and waited for any sign that the woman snoring on the bed was waking up. There had been none, and he’d come closer, watching the sleeping face turned upwards. 

He’d pulled out his knife. Snapped his wrist a few times to make sure he would need only one slice. He’d lifted his blade.

And then the door had burst open and a servant had started screaming. 

“Shit.” Donghyuck whirled, abandoning the king’s target on her bed and sprinting to the window. He busted out, ready to cushion his landing with a swift roll, and to take off into the shadows. But then, a sharp pain sliced through his right leg, making his vision go white for a second, and instead of having a controlled fall, he crashed on the cobblestone tiles outside, letting out a cry at the impact. He had time to feel the shock in the marrow of his bones, to taste the blood filling up his mouth, and to see a bunch of guards rushing out of the doors of the residence, before he passed out.

͟͟͞͞➳

Donghyuck awoke strapped to a chair. He spat out a quantity of blood that suggested he hit the ground harder than he’d thought, and looked around, scanning his surroundings. He was in a cube-shaped room made entirely of stone, and that had as only visible exit an iron door. On the walls, there was nothing, aside from a few dying torches and a moth-eaten cloth that might’ve once been a tapestry. 

The assassin struggled with his bonds for a bit, the rope digging into his wrists as he tried to break free, but he had to finally accept that they were just too tight for him to escape. Still, he thrashed as much as he could, but stopped suddenly as he felt a sharp ache in his calf. He stretched out his neck as much as possible to look at his leg, and groaned out loud when he noticed the deep gash cutting right through cloth and skin. He’d been shot in the air earlier, probably with an arrow. The blood dripping from it had stained the stone floor. 

Suddenly, the lock on the door clicked, and his head snapped up. It clicked for a while, actually.  _ Multiple  _ locks, then. Donghyuck glared as someone walked in, followed by two guards armed to the teeth, and then he glared even harder when he realized it was the opium dealer herself.

She had flat brown hair, dark eyes, and a face that might have once been considered beautiful, if her eyes weren’t sunk in and her skin wasn’t so flaky and her mouth wasn’t pulled in a grimace. She smiled at him with yellowing teeth. “Hello,” she purred, and suddenly Donghyuck wanted to throw up.

Nevertheless, he grinned right back, knowing fully well his teeth were stained with blood. “Good evening, milady.”   
  


“What’s your name?”

“Leo,” Donghyuck said, and received another saccharine smile. 

“No, it is not. But that’s fine. I have some more important questions I need you to answer.” She stalked closer to him and lowered herself to eye-level with him, cocking her head. “Why did you come into my house tonight?”

“To look at the paintings you have in your room. They’re very pretty. How much for the one with the fruits?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed a bit. She let out a slow, falsely sweet laugh. “Oh, you’re a funny one.”

“Yes, I’ve been told.” Donghyuck mentally slapped himself. Too much. He was going to get himself killed if he didn’t shut his mouth.

The opium dealer smiled again, and slipped out a curved knife from behind her back. Donghyuck’s face stayed unbothered, bored, almost, but his heartbeat picked up. Oh,  _ no _ .

“See, I enjoy funny conversations. I do. But what I do  _ not  _ enjoy is people breaking into my property in the middle of the night. So, my boy, you better stop talking, or I cut up that loud mouth of yours. Who is paying you?”

The assassin’s surprise must have shown on his face, because the woman explained. “You had a grand total of sixteen knives of varying sizes on you. I know you were here to murder me. Now I want you to tell me who is paying you before I chop you up in tiny pieces.”

"I only work for myself," Donghyuck said, his face grave.

He received another one of those fake, sweet smiles that made a cold sweat run down his back. "What did I say about cooperating?" she asked, her finger caressing the tip of the blade.

"I am, though." Donghyuck shouldn't have said that, he knew it.

"It seems we have a different definition of cooperating."

The assassin gulped slightly as she stepped closer, bringing up the knife, tilting it toward his neck. He was scared, yes, but this wasn't anything he hadn't gone through already. All those times he'd been interrogated and had barely managed to escape when he was still working for his mentor came back to him, the multiple scars ornating his body like a mosaic of red and brown. It was a part of his life he'd foolishly thought he'd forget when he met Mark. He breathed in, breathed out. He wasn't dying tonight. He couldn't. He still had things to do. And this wouldn't be his first brush with death anyways.

"Speak," the dealer commanded, and brought the tip of the blade to his throat.

"I told you already." His voice was steady, and he was looking at her dead in the eyes. "I work for no one."

Her eyes narrowed, and she pressed the tip of the blade into the soft skin at his neck. "I don't believe you," she whispered.

Then, too quickly for Donghyuck to register, she lashed at his shoulder, cutting through cloth and skin. A surge of pain flared, white hot and burning. He gritted his teeth. "I am telling the truth."

"Oh yeah?" There was a mocking look in her eyes, like she found all this quite funny. "I still don't think so, but I'm sure it'll come easier when you're bleeding out on the floor."

Donghyuck gave her a smile. "I prefer bleeding out over you," he said, and spat out blood straight to her face.

He saw her face slowly shift into something vicious, her brows lowering and her jaw tightening to a point he wouldn't have thought possible. She didn't bother wiping at her face, just pivoted slowly, towards her guards.

"You guys can take care of him." Then she spoke to Donghyuck. "Those two will enjoy breaking you, boy. And once they're done, I will take my sweet time turning what's left of you into dust," she whispered the last sentence, bringing her mouth close to Donghyuck's face, breathing hot air into his ear. The boy nearly gagged.

Without another word, she walked out, closing the door and its multiple locks behind her.

His heart was thundering in his chest but he gave the two men who were walking towards him a lopsided grin. “Well, hello, boys. Isn’t this going to be fun?”

The taller one of them chuckled, a deep, raspy, ugly sound. “Fun? Yes,  _ we  _ will enjoy this, for sure. Not you.”

“You’re underestimating me,” the assassin chirped, still hiding behind that facade of indifference.

The shorter guard hummed in answer, and took out from his pocket something that glinted under the torchlight. Donghyuck tensed. Brass knuckles. 

“Our boss said she wanted you to talk, so we won’t touch your mouth too much.” They were stepping closer, now, and looked so much taller than before, towering over Donghyuck. He didn’t give them the satisfaction of writhing in his bonds. 

“Oh, thank the gods. I love my face how it is, thank you very much. With all my teeth.”

He smiled, and the guard struck.

Straight in the gut. Donghyuck jerked, trying to remember how to breathe. After a few seconds, he shook his head, his sweat-drenched locks sticking to his forehead, and looked up at the two men, who were almost laughing. “Holy  _ fuck  _ that hurt. You’re good,” he told the guard with the brass knuckles. “Though you might have to hit harder if you want me to speak.”

So he did. Donghyuck didn’t have a moment to breathe between the strikes, grunting every time the brass knuckles came in contact with his ribs, bruised his stomach. The pain made his head spin. He coughed up blood, spitting it out once again. But he took the hits. One after the other. He would not speak. The guard had faded out his vision, out of his mind. There were only the endless jabs that made a blinding ache soar through his veins. There was nothing but brass and blood and pain.

He was near unconsciousness when the guard stopped, panting a bit. How dare he show signs of fatigue, when Donghyuck was all battered and bruised and aching, the assassin thought. He received a crooked smile. “Are you ready to speak now?”

He wheezed out a breath in answer. The words wouldn’t come out anyways. It was useless. There was a painful burning in his mouth, and he knew he’d bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood when he felt the warm liquid pooling behind his teeth again. 

“Look at me,” the second guard, the one without the brass knuckles, ordered. Donghyuck blinked up lazily at him, his head slowly lolling from side to side. 

Then he guessed he started hallucinating, because something pointy came out of the man’s chest, a pool of blood immediately forming on his grey shirt. Donghyuck frowned. He must’ve been really far gone if he was seeing things. That was weird, though, because he’d survived much worse than the beating he’d just received, and he’d never come to the point of hallucinations.

When the guard sagged and fell to the ground, a knife protruding from his back, however, the assassin realized his mind might not be playing tricks. He watched the other man whip around toward the iron door, which was now open. He watched the guard peer in the shadows beyond the threshold, raising his brass knuckles, as if to defend himself. He watched a blade fly through the door and right into his tormentor’s neck. 

Donghyuck let out a disappointed sigh.

Someone else was here, and doing his job for him, apparently.

A cloaked figure walked through the door, and Donghyuck squinted, willing his pain-clouded brain to clear. Would the newcomer kill him? Abduct him to interrogate him? Leave him here to bleed out?

“Well, what have we here?” the stranger said in a singsongy voice. It sounded familiar.

“Someone in perfect shape, don’t worry,” Donghyuck grunted, trying to free himself from the ropes and wincing at the pain moving caused him.

A soft laugh, then a nod. “Do you want any help, perhaps? Before the rest of the guards come running and wonder why their boss is laying in a pool of her own blood?”

Donghyuck crinkled his nose. “You killed her?”

“Yes.”

“That was my job.”

“I don’t recall your name written on her forehead.” Donghyuck had definitely heard that voice somewhere.

“Yes, unfortunately, she caught me before I had the time to carve it out.”

“Shame.”

Still straining his wrists against his bonds, he raised an eyebrow at the newcomer. “Have we met before?”

The stranger stayed quiet, tilting his head, like he was observing the bloody boy in front of him. Something seemed to hit him. “Haechan?” he asked, and the assassin gave him a smile full of red-stained teeth at the mention of the old name.

“That would be me.”

The cloaked stranger brought a hand up and slowly pulled down the hood that was encasing his face in shadows. “We meet again,” he said, and Donghyuck snorted.

“Yangyang.” 

Yangyang nodded. “It’s been a while.”

“Definitely. How’s life at the Underground?” Donghyuck asked, like he wasn’t bound to a chair and covered in bruises.

Letting out a sigh, Yangyang crossed his arms. “As entertaining as ever, I’m assuming.” He raised his brows questioningly. “Why did you leave, by the way? We never got an explanation. I think Kun misses you.”

The assassin let out a scoff, a smile tugging at his blood-caked lips. “Kun misses my  _ talent _ . I left because I felt like it.”

“Alright.” Yangyang shrugged. “So, do you want me to untie you or not? I can leave you here if you wish.”

Donghyuck winced in annoyance. “I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“You already owe me after I saved your ass.”

“Touché.” Donghyuck shrugged, and hissed in pain at the movement. “Come on, I don’t have all night.”

A smug smirk pulling at his mouth, Yangyang stepped closer and whipped out a long, flat dagger, before crouching behind him and starting to saw through the rope at his wrists. As he did so, Donghyuck spiraled down a lane of memories he hadn’t thought of in months. 

His life as an assassin of the capital seemed so far behind, now. The long hours of training under Kun’s cold, calculating gaze, the nights at the Underground taverns, drinking with Yangyang and Hendery, the jobs that were almost too easy to him. Those days were long gone, now, but Donghyuck couldn't help but feel nostalgic for the times where everything was so simple. 

Seeing Yangyang here, in the middle of nowhere, was an unlikely coincidence. He had been a close acquaintance—not a friend. Donghyuck didn’t have friends—to him when they both had Kun as a mentor. The two of them, plus Hendery, another of Kun’s assassins, stuck together because they were the best. No one dared approach them when they were alone, and people stayed away when they were together. The Underground was full of criminals and cheaters and creeps, so you had to build a reputation to stay safe. It was a matter of kill or be killed. Donghyuck chose to kill.

“How’s Hendery?” Yangyang had moved to his strapped legs by now, and Donghyuck brought his hands together, rubbing at his wrists.

Yangyang shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” He hesitated. “You left the Underground too?”

The Underground was exactly what the name suggested. A network of caves and alcoves stretching beneath the streets of the capitals, with kilometers and kilometers of market stalls selling things that were most definitely outlawed. It was where all the criminals, the cheaters, the prostitutes and the creeps could be found. Going there unaccompanied meant you wouldn’t get out. Someone would get ahold of you before you did.

“Yeah. I felt like it,” Yangyang said, repeating the words Donghyuck himself had used earlier.

Donghyuck hadn’t necessarily  _ enjoyed  _ his time in the Underground. It was all he knew. Kun had taken him under his wing when his parents died, at twelve years old, and since then he’d been sucked inside that world of lying and stealing and killing, with no possible exit. He was fine with that, until Mark. Mark was his exit.

As soon as he formulated the thought, he pushed it as far as possible, to the back of his mind. This was not the time. He lowered his gaze to Yangyang, who looked up at him with a smirk as the last of his ropes were untied.

Donghyuck shot out of that stupid chair and immediately regretted it. “Ah, fuck! That  _ hurts _ .” He hunched forwards a bit and braced a hand on his stomach, wincing.

Yangyang didn’t say a word, staring at him until he nodded and stood up straighter. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on the floor above them rang through the room, and the two assassins looked at each other. “They’re coming,” Yangyang declared, but Donghyuck knew it already. “Can you fight?”

The dark-haired boy gave him a sharp nod. He  _ could  _ fight. Maybe he’d pass out while doing it, but that was a question for later. A glint of silver flashed in his peripheral vision, and he caught midair the dagger Yangyang threw him. “Thanks,” he said.

“You owe me,” Yangyang mouthed, and they burst out of the room.

The guards found them soon enough. They didn’t last long. Even as his injuries throbbed and his head pounded, Donghyuck felt himself slip slowly into the cold calm he’d experienced multiple times back when he was an assassin at the capital. Yangyang was the same, and the familiarity of the scene made Donghyuck’s chest clench a bit. Separately, they were good fighters. Together, they were a killing machine. The hours he spent training with him as Kun watched and corrected their every move were coming back to him, and in the heat of the moment, he thought maybe this was the closest he’d get to turning back time. 

He swung his knife, kicked a guard in the knee, brought down his weapon. He was a whirlwind of shadows and steel, and blood sprayed in his wake. He shot Yangyang a look, and smirked when he saw his ex-partner was doing the same as him, slashing through the guards as if they were mere stacks of wheat. Oh, they didn’t stand a chance.

͟͟͞͞➳

They’d killed every single person in that bloody house.

Donghyuck braced his hands on his knees, breathing harshly, inhaling the scent of death. It smelled heavenly. He felt like he was close to fainting, by now, and every step made him grimace in pain, but there was a thrum in his blood, a thrill in his eyes and he felt  _ alive _ . 

“I missed doing bad things,” he admitted, his voice a bit unsteady.

Yangyang smirked. “Funny. I was sure you would’ve done your fair share of bad things, even when you got out of the Underground.”

_ Yes, but they weren’t of my own will _ , Donghyuck wanted to say. There was a difference between being the king’s lackey and doing jobs for Kun. After all, he’d come to Kun of his own will in the first place. Sure, he was a child, but it was a choice he made consciously. 

“I’m not a bad person,” he said, waiting for a reaction.

Yangyang’s face turned to him, a funny look in his eyes. “Oh, Haechan. You and I both know that’s not true.” 

And Donghyuck stayed silent after that, because he knew he was right.

͟͟͞͞➳

  
  


“So why did you come here anyways?” Donghyuck asked as they slipped out of the mansion, after shimmying their way to the roofs, where they were less likely to be seen. Yangyang raised a brow at him and flashed a paper with a series of numbers scribbled on it.

“The money, of course. Why else?”

“Is that the code to her treasury?”

A nod. “Thanks, by the way,” Yangyang chuckled. “You caused enough of a commotion to distract the guards. You made it very easy for me to get in”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall separating him from the drop towards the street. “No problem.”

There was a beat of silence, filled only by the whispering of the night breeze and the crickets singing. Donghyuck clutched at the blood-stained necklace he’d pried from the opium dealer’s body. “Well,” he said.

“Well.”

Another second of quiet.

“I guess I should get going.”

“Me too,” Yangyang nodded, watching the empty street below. Without another word, he turned away, making his way to the edge of the roof. “You’ll be fine?” he asked, speaking of the other boy’s injuries, and Donghyuck nodded even if he was facing away from him.

“I’ve been through worse.”

Yangyang shrugged. “I know,” he told him, his voice carried away by the light wind, and pulled his hood over his head again. “I won’t miss you, Haechan.”

Donghyuck smiled. “Me neither.”

And without another word, Yangyang jumped to the next roof, then to the next, leaving Donghyuck alone in the freshness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/jmzne)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/xuxisquish)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not betaed Oops . we die like men also posting this rn is an impulsive decision so i don't want to bother my betas. Yea

Donghyuck made it back to the palace a week later, after long days of horse riding on a mare he’d stolen from a farmer. His legs were stiff and his torso was still sore from those damn brass knuckles, coloured in hues of deep purple and bloody red and sickly yellow. He was  _ exhausted _ , and all he wanted at the moment was to go to his room, crash onto his mattress and sleep for a few decades. But he had a report to give, so he forced one feet in front of the other, gripped the necklace in a tight fist, and made his way to the king’s quarters.

The monarch accepted the piece of jewelry without a word, and Donghyuck thought he was dismissed. He was about to turn away, thanking the gods for this small mercy, when the king raised a hand, stopping his movement and his heart. 

He was watching the necklace, rolling the chain between his fingers, but his voice was cold. “Can you tell me…” His tone made a shiver run down the assassin’s spine. “Why, exactly, did word come to me that there was the mass murder of people in a mansion of a portuary city, including the owner of the house, a wealthy businesswoman?”

Donghyuck clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking and willed his voice to be steady. “The guards created a commotion, so I killed them all.”

“I can’t have people knowing about my champion. I thought I’d made myself clear before.”

“No one saw me, Your Majesty,” Donghyuck defended himself in the most respectful voice possible, his heart rate speeding up. 

“Boy,” the king snapped, and the assassin froze. “I don’t tolerate mistakes.”

Donghyuck bowed at the waist, tightening his hands behind his back. “It won’t happen again, Your Majesty.”

“If it does…” The king’s eyes fixed on Donghyuck’s, cold as ice. “You will never see the light of day, and you will know suffering you have never fathomed before. This is not a threat. This is a promise.” Then he leaned back in his seat, like nothing happened. “Be gone. And go pay a visit to Doyoung, my Captain of Guard, tomorrow. I want him to…  _ handle you _ .”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and made his way to the door, hiding his shaking hands under the lapels of his tunic.

͟͟͞͞➳

Donghyuck fought back the tears of pure stress clouding his vision as he walked through one of the servants’ passageways lounging a narrow corridor in the east wing of the palace. He focused on the fire inside him, fed it fuel, nourished it until he was absolutely enraged. He was furious, but at least the fire melted away those stupid, weak tears.

He was nearly running now, but a strange sound made him halt. It sounded like a hushed, reassuring whisper.

Donghyuck frowned as he neared the wall, his eyes scanning the narrow windows piercing the stone between the corridor and the secret passageway. He followed the murmur until he found its origin, and suddenly he was staring through the wall at two figures crouching on the ground. One of them was huddled up against a wall, shaking, and the other was rubbing a reassuring hand against their back and whispering softly next to their ear.

Then the one who was curled up in a tight ball let out a whine, and Donghyuck’s heart dropped to his feet.

It was Mark.

It was Mark, and he was sobbing into the other person’s shoulder, who Donghyuck recognized as Renjun. But it didn’t matter now, because Mark was crying and shaking and making those broken noises that shattered Donghyuck’s heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

It ached, and he couldn’t breathe because it was like living their goodbyes all over again. Mark was hurt, and Donghyuck couldn’t comfort him. So he watched, silent tears streaming down his face, as the prince’s muffled cries shot arrows through his chest.

It sounded like he was mumbling something in Renjun’s shirt between his heaving sobs, and Donghyuck willed his heartbeat to quiet down so he could listen. He realized it was the same sentence over and over.

“I miss him, Renjun,” Mark choked out. “I miss him so much.”

Donghyuck broke down.

He clutched at his chest, letting himself slide against the wall, his face scrunching up. Then there were tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. It hurt. It hurt so  _ bad  _ and he was so, so cold without Mark’s hands to hold. 

He stayed there for a bit, muffling the sobs that racked through his body with his fist. The floor was hard against his bruised ribs, but nothing could compare to the pain that was splitting his chest open, carving through his heart with a knife. 

Then he heard them, the whispers Renjun was uttering while stroking Mark’s hair. “I know. I know you miss him.”

And somehow, those words, spoken in such a soft voice, made Donghyuck’s tears slow, made his breathing easier. “Thank you for staying with me,” he heard Mark whisper, and Donghyuck thought the prince sounded completely broken.

And then it hit him.

Renjun was there for Mark, when Donghyuck himself couldn’t be. He could comfort the prince, play with his hair, squeeze his hand, hold him through the night. And even though the fact that Donghyuck couldn’t do these things himself made him sick to the stomach, the feeling was eased a little bit by the knowledge that Mark  _ had  _ someone.

He watched through the wall as Renjun carded his fingers through Mark’s locks, and the prince slowly stopped shaking. Then Mark lifted his head from Renjun’s shoulder, and the sight of his starry eyes and tear-stained cheeks made Donghyuck’s heart crack all over again. But it was the gratefulness in those eyes that made him nod, that made him accept that maybe Renjun was good for Mark. 

Renjun could give him all the love, all the care he deserved. Renjun could give Mark the happiness he deserved. What Donghyuck failed to do.

So, wiping his wet cheeks, the assassin stood up on wobbly legs, and gazed at the two princes huddled together. He lowered his head, then looked back up again. Slowly, he nodded. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed silently, staring at Renjun with tear-filled eyes. And then he walked away. 

͟͟͞͞➳

The next morning, he was awoken by a messenger knocking at the door of his quarters. He pushed himself out of bed, groaning, and opened the panel to see a small girl holding a slip of paper.

_ The king requested you be at my office at noon. Be there. _

_ Doyoung Kim, Captain of the Guard _

Donghyuck ushered the messenger girl away, giving her a silver coin for her services, and cursed at himself as he spotted the clock. He had half an hour to get ready. “An earlier notice would’ve been nice,” he mumbled to himself as he slipped on pants at the same time as he hopped inside the bathroom to wash his face.

After splashing water on his cheeks, his neck, he glared at himself in the mirror, observing the fading bruises all over his chest and ribs. They didn’t hurt that much anymore, but they did look nasty. Donghyuck frowned at himself, before sliding a loose white shirt over his head, covering the ugly purple-and-yellow stains on his skin. Without another look at himself, he rushed out of his quarters, combing furiously through his tousled hair with his fingers.

The way to the Captain of the Guard’s office wasn’t long, since that and Donghyuck’s rooms were both on the lowest floor of the palace before the cellars, the level that was halfway into the ground. He turned a corner, walked down a torchlit corridor, the soles of his shoes rustling on the deep red carpet. There it was, the office, closed by a simple, deep brown wooden door, distinct from the other rooms lining the corridor only by a golden insignia hanging on it at eye-level. 

Donghyuck hesitated for a second, and knocked. 

“Come in,” he heard from the inside, a voice that sounded like it was used to giving orders.

Donghyuck twisted the doorknob, pushed open the door, and walked in. He was greeted by a tidy room, with naked stone walls, a large desk in the middle as sole visible furniture, and a narrow line of glass running along the top of the back wall, letting a sliver of sunshine in. At the desk was seated a man with ebony hair, sharp facial features and deep-set dark eyes that seemed like they were staring right into the assassin’s soul. Donghyuck gulped.

“Take a seat,” the man,  _ Doyoung _ , commanded, and Donghyuck complied, slipping into the chair in front of the desk. 

The captain stayed quiet for a bit, bracing his elbows on his desk and his chin on his interlocked hands. There was something in his eyes, something Donghyuck couldn’t exactly put his finger on, but that resembled curiosity.

“Donghyuck Lee,” Doyoung said, and the assassin recoiled unintentionally, because it had been so long since someone other than Jaemin had said his name… His gut tightened, and he didn’t like the feeling. “Don’t worry, I know what you do for His Majesty. I’ve known all along. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t sent you to see me earlier.”

“Why?” Donghyuck uttered, his mouth dry. “Why did he send me?”

Doyoung sighed, and unclasped his hands, flattening his palms against the wood. He seemed almost reluctant to say what he had to say. It made the boy’s insides twist. “To… do damage control.”

Donghyuck nodded. He probably knew, inside of him, that that was what the king sent him here to do. To  _ endure _ . Punishment, for his mistakes.

“You slipped, in your last mission. I didn’t get the entire debriefing on what happened, but I know enough. You got sloppy. Something your status does not allow you to do. And His Majesty wants you to feel the repercussions of your actions, so he is certain you will pay attention, next time.”

Another nod. He tightened his hands into fists.

“I am ordered to hurt you.”

Donghuck’s breath halted, but the captain continued, his eyes trained on his hands. “So that you will remember, so the pain stops you from making more mistakes.”

The assassin straightened his spine, stiffened his muscles, ready to take whatever hit Doyoung would swing at him. Ready to get beaten up, even if for some reason he felt like he was already down.

The captain sucked in a sharp breath, and his gaze came up to meet Donghyuck. “That is what I was ordered to do.”

The silence in the room became charged with the meaning of that sentence, of what would follow.

“However.” His voice was careful, steady. “I will not do that. I don’t believe it is a proper way to make someone learn from their mistakes.”

Donghyuck let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Small mercies.

Doyoung’s gaze was boring deep into his eyes, grave and solemn. “I do, however, place my trust in you that you will know better in any further situations, that you will avoid committing the same errors as you did on your recent mission. Do you understand?”

With a slow nod, the assassin agreed. He hesitated for a second, then asked the simple question tugging at his lips. “Why?” He paused, and looked away from the captain’s questioning stare. “Why me? Why do you trust me? I’m not-- We barely know each other, and I have… A record. I don’t think--”

The words weren’t coming out like Donghyuck wanted them to, so, without a better solution, he fell silent. 

Doyoung sighed. “A hunch.” Donghyuck was about to snort, but the captain cut him off before he could. “And before you try arguing, I have very good hunches. I have been training soldiers in this castle for seven years, and never has my intuition about my men been proven wrong. I had a hunch about you the second you walked in.”

“With all due respect, milord… I am not one of your men. I kill people.” Donghyuck didn’t know why he was defending his guiltiness. He definitely wasn’t helping his case. He was worrying about having said too much, but a small smile stretched the captain’s lips. 

“I still think I am right about you. And I also think you will not betray my trust.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck said, and, this time, didn’t argue.

A grimace snaked its way to Doyoung’s face then, and he cleared his throat. “However, uh… The king did want me to give you a couple punches to shake you up a bit. I can’t have you walking around perfectly fine like this…”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“I can give you a black eye without hurting you too much, if I have the right angle. With that, all you have to do is limp for a few days, hold your stomach and wince in pain from time to time when the king summons you, and it’ll be good.”

Donghyuck shook his head, shrugging. “Yeah, that’s perfect, come here, give me the darkest black eye you can.”

Doyoung chuckled a bit and stood up from behind his desk, then walked around it. He was right in front of Donghyuck now. “I’m sorry,” he said, and punched the assassin straight in the face.

“Fucking-- Ow! You said it wouldn’t hurt!” Donghyuck clutched at his eye, already feeling it swell up. 

“I said it wouldn’t hurt  _ too much _ ,” Doyoung corrected. “I made it as less painful as possible, but it  _ is  _ a black eye we are talking about, and it is pretty impossible to make that thing appear without a minimum of pain.”

Donghyuck shot him a glare, and he had the nerve to smile. But it disappeared as soon as he shot a glance to his watch, his face switching to something more serious. “I have someone coming here in a few minutes. You might want to consider getting out of here.”

Donghyuck stuck out his tongue, but got up anyways. “Oh, alright. I didn’t expect you to kick me out.”

The captain huffed, an exasperated look passing over his face. “Do you want another punch in the face, then?”

“No, sir,” Donghyuck said, and made his way to the door. “Goodbye, thank you for the black eye, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Doyoung responded, sitting back down behind his desk. “Goodbye, Donghyuck.”

“See you, captain,” the assassin chided, walking out of the office and pivoting left to start skipping down the hallway.

He didn’t, however, see the person standing a few meters behind him, completely frozen, looking at him like they’d just seen a ghost.

͟͟͞͞➳

Donghyuck lay upside down on the cushioned chair in the small living space of his quarters, his legs up in the air and his head hanging off from the piece of furniture, staring at the table, and the book laying upon it. He frowned at it, hoping maybe it would grow legs and run away if he glared hard enough. 

With a huff, he averted his gaze, thinking back on Doyoung and those stupid words he’d said.  _ I place my trust in you. I think you will not betray it.  _

The assassin let out a harsh breath. He didn’t know why those sentences had such a big effect on him. Why they did, in fact, bring him to somewhat trust the captain, in the short time they’d known each other. They’d barely spoken, in fact, but, for some reason, Donghyuck felt a sort of safety when he thought about Doyoung. When he thought back on it, it was strange, actually, how quickly they’d completely bypassed the formalities and went directly to teasing each other. 

Maybe they just clicked, he thought, but scoffed immediately after he did. That was ridiculous. Donghyuck didn’t  _ click  _ with people. He closed his eyes, relaxing his features. Still, it might always be useful to have an ally in the palace with him. Especially if said ally was the Captain of the Guard.  _ That  _ kind of connection could always come in handy.

Donghyuck’s eyes fell on the book again and he sighed, pushing all thoughts of Doyoung away. He would worry about that matter later. For now, he had things to work on. He narrowed his eyes, and the book didn’t move. It was just sitting there, on top of the table, mocking him. For a second, Donghyuck considered ripping it to pieces. But then he realized it would just be giving into its game, it would be cowardly of him to destroy it. He wasn’t about to give up.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, and sat up straight.

He reached out trembling hands, picking up the book, running his hand along the soft cover, the thin binding. He took in a sharp breath and opened it. 

The colourful drawings and large letters spreading over the page were laughing at him.  _ What are you doing _ , they were saying.  _ What is a grown man doing reading a children’s book _ ? He felt a blush rise to his cheeks, the embarrassment flooding his veins, even though he was alone. He wanted to shut it, throw it across the room, so it’d stop mocking him, making him feel small and incompetent and dumb.

But closing the book would mean giving up, so he pulled it to his lap and started reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYEA hey guys . hope you liked it . comments n kudos appreciated (rattles can) Please ?

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW. this is only the start :) prepare yourself for a ride, girls and gays, because we are in for a long ass ride.
> 
> this fic is so so important to me. it's my baby, i've been working on it for so long, and i really, really hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/jmzne)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/xuxisquish)


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